Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
by Emjay
Summary: The 1970's---Voldemort's rise to power and the strange dissapearance of one Morganne Sylvie Lestrange.....The 1990's--Voldemort's second rise, where a Squib declared witch becomes a key player whether she likes it or not...*Detailed summary in bio*
1. Prologue

A/N: This is the revised edition of the prologue. When I decided to post at fictionalley, I changed some things around. I thought the father's dialogue was a little over the top, as did my only reviewer: Thanx so much Kristina! You have absolutely no idea how much your review means to me! I seriously didn't think I was going to get any feedback for this story, but you changed my mind! Thanx again!

****

Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

~_Prologue_~

It would have been a regular night. It would have been just another night, one undeserving of considerable mention and unremarkable in every way, but when the fates want something to occur, it will, whether it be important or no. And it just so happened that on that clear night in downtown London, a very suspicious looking pair appeared out of nowhere into the shadows of a back alley, across the street from the dark and formidable looking orphanage that sat like a sleeping monster waiting to be roused. 

It was fortunate that no one was walking the streets at that late hour, as lonely drunks and soul searchers were wont to do, or perhaps it wouldn't have happened like it was supposed to. It was also very fortunate that the small girl standing hidden between the two wasn't making any noise of protest. If she had been a normal girl, she would have been squalling and struggling for all she was worth, fighting her father's hold on her arm and doing everything in her power to stay away from the bleak future waiting across the street for her. But as it was, this girl accepted her parent's decisions, however heartless and horrifying they may be, and even though she was just a little scared, and just a little unsure of what her life would be like from now on, she didn't show it. 

The aforementioned pair shared a quick word, then ushered the small girl across the street, dodging like thieves between parked cars and staying clear of the street lamp's bright glare on the asphalt. Their long, strange looking cloaks of dark green and maroon swayed around their feet in great bells, obscuring the girl in their thick folds. They hurried up to the heavy metal gates, whose heavy padlock mysteriously clicked open after the man uttered a single word and pointed what looked like nothing more than a thin rod of wood at the gate. He pulled the now unlocked gate open just so much as they could slip through unnoticed, and pulled the woman and girl along with him, tugging them along down the cobblestone courtyard path and up to the mighty oak doors. The woman fell behind as they reached the steps, and waited while the man parked the girl right in front of the doors, stuffing a piece of parchment into her hand.

He drew the thin rod of wood again and pointed it at the girl.

"Oblivia…" he began, but stopped himself, hesitating.

"What are you waiting for?" the woman hissed, glancing around her worriedly. "Wipe her memory!"

The man exhaled through his nose, lips pinching together. 

"We're abandoning her, Monique." He said stiffly, looking back at the woman. "We should at least leave her her memories, if nothing else."

The woman gave a disgruntled sigh, crossing her arms.

"Fine then." She snapped. "Leave her some silly memories. It's not as though anyone would believe her, given what she is…."

"Exactly. Do you see my point?"

"Whatever you want André." The woman looked visibly distressed now, dancing from foot to foot. "Just hurry up so we can go. Someone's going to see us…"

This seemed to make up the man's mind, and he put away the rod, turning and grasping the girl's shoulders tightly.

"Don't ever come back." He said. "We've leaving you here, and it is here that you will stay. Forget ever calling yourself a Lestrange again, _Squib_. You are not a witch, despite who your parents may be. You are not Morganne Sylvie Lestrange. You are Lynn Grey, nothing but a dirty, filthy, talentless Muggle, just another hapless victim of a loveless union. That, my dear, is who you are. Don't ever forget it."

With that, he grasped the heavy brass knocker and rapped loudly twice. When a light came on from the second floor, followed by more on the first, the man went back to the woman's side, and without so much as a goodbye, they disappeared into thin air. The girl watched her parents go unflinchingly, as she'd done so many things in her short life, and as the doors behind her opened and a large woman appeared in the doorway, crying out at the sight of her watching the empty courtyard with blank eyes, she couldn't help but realize that she was very, very alone. 


	2. The Strange and Unexplainable

A/N: I've really got nothing to say, and this seems quite pointless to write anything when nobody has even reviewed or shown interest in this fic, but I guess I'll say something anyway. I'm really enjoying writing this fic, and even though no one has reviewed yet, I harbor a secret wish that at least someone has _read_ this….I hate Mary Sue's as much as the next person, but when you think about it, every female character is a Mary Sue unless she's dreadfully ugly, has no talents whatsoever and is liked by no one, so that pretty much narrows the scope for creativity if you ask me. Give Mary Sue's a chance people! Ahem, anyway, please read and review. You have no idea how much that will mean to me and this little fledgling project of mine!

Disclaimer: I own nothing at all. 

Chapter One

Why Lynn thought drinking her husband under the table was a good idea, she would never know. Sitting across from her at the circular bar table, Peter was looking as if he could last the night out, despite the way his liquor glazed eyes wandered about the room. He was also grinning like a complete fool, which usually could be attributed to extreme giddiness or severe inebriation, and so, the evidence was obviously stacked against him. Both giddy and inebriated were terms most often applied to someone like Peter, but where one usually made the mistake was thinking that even though he was both aforementioned terms, that didn't necessarily mean that he couldn't hold his liquor better than cupped hands could hold water. Lynn had make that mistake many times, and she feared that she'd made it yet again.

A small crowd had gathered to watch the duel, and already a few rumpled bills littered the table. The patrons of this bar knew better. They'd seen many a man go down thinking they could do better than Peter, and Lynn would just be one more soul to be mourned and thought back on fondly. 

Behind Peter, Phillip, his good friend, was massaging his shoulders, eyes set and firm as he muttered advice in Peter's ear. Dillon, Lynn's comrade in arms was giving both men a glare that could have melted steel, and though she'd never admit it, Dillon knew very well how this match was going to turn out. Both groups were tossing insults across the table, using all possible means to bring the other down, be they fair or no. So far, Peter's masculinity had been questioned, Lynn's most embarrassing secret had been laid bare before the entire bar, and Phillip and Dillon's relationship had ended, started, and ended again amidst showers of profanity and crude references to both party's genitalia.

Lynn could tell she was fading fast(she was definitely _not_ one to hold her _anything_, let alone liquor) but she was utterly determined to go down with her dignity firmly intact.

"One more?" she asked, a little unsteadily, raising her glass.

Peter raised his own glass in a mock salute, then waved for the barkeep to pour another shot for them both. Tom, who through some questionable and wildly unbelievable circumstances was now commonly known by the more colourful patrons of the bar as "Sue", shook his head ruefully and tipped the bottle, sloshing some amber liquid into their tumblers, then backed away to watch the mayhem.

"One…" Phillip counted slowly. "Two…._Three_!"

Lynn and Peter tipped the glasses and downed what must have been their eighth shot respectively, slamming it back on the table once it was empty, disturbing the cocktail peanuts and sending them skittering over the edge. When both of them remained relatively upright in their seats, a heavy roar erupted from the bystanders, and more bills were thrown on the table. The stakes were rising.

Lynn swallowed hard, clutching at the rim of her seat to keep herself from toppling over. The room before her swam mercilessly, but she'd be damned if she was going to pass out now. The sour, foul taste in her mouth really wasn't helping either. She felt as though she was going to empty her stomach _very_ soon. Either that, or pitch headfirst onto the floor. Neither options were looking very promising, but it was definitely going to be one of them sooner or later.

"Are you going to back down like you should, or are things going to have to get ugly?"

Peter's voice was dangerously slurred, and she suddenly realized he looked just as bad she felt.

"What time is it?" Lynn didn't think that if she tried to raise her watch, she'd be able to read the hands.

"Twelve thirty!" Someone from the crowd called in the ensuing silence.

Lynn groaned, holding her head. 

"We should go home, Peter." She muttered. "Adrienne has school tomorrow, and we really can't expect her to stay up all night. James is probably just waiting for her to fall asleep before tying her up and tossing her in a closet…."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

Lynn gave him a lazy grin, rising unsteadily to her feat.

"We're done here for tonight Tom." She tossed enough money to pay for their drinks on the table, while the betters collected their winnings, then pulled her husband out of his chair and through the door. Phillip and Dillon followed soon after, their relationship obviously in place again, waving them off as Lynn hailed a cab from the curb. When one pulled up, Lynn fell into the backseat and tugged Peter in behind her, who toppled unceremoniously into her lap. He smiled a crooked smile into her neck, giggling a little.

"We are so drunk…." He tittered, pecking Lynn on the cheek.

"Shove off."

She pushed him away from her and leaned forward to give the cabbie their address.

When the cramped cab pulled up in front of their two story flat, Peter was almost asleep on her shoulder, and Lynn nearly had to carry him inside if he hadn't suddenly decided to throw open the door and retch all over the sidewalk, then promptly pass out. From the front seat she could hear the cabbie chuckle to himself, and he gratefully accepted the contents of Lynn's wallet. She didn't even bother to wait for the change. 

Lynn stumbled around the back of the cab and helped Peter out, carefully sidestepping the vomit and draping his arm around her shoulder, pulling him up the front steps. She knocked on the door and waited while Adrienne stirred on the couch and came to answer.

"Bloody hell Mrs. Turner, is Mr. Turner alright?"

Lynn smiled lopsidedly, noting in the window how glazed her eyes looked.

"I'm sure he'll be right as rain in the morning." She patted his head affectionately. "Don't you worry."

Adrienne helped her over the threshold, studiously ignoring the conspicuous stain on Peter's shirt.

"Is James in bed?"

Adrienne nodded, then grinned in return, turning to grab her coat and slip into it before brushing past Lynn and Peter and down the front steps.

"I know you're out of money Mrs. Turner." She called over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it next time."

"You're a saint, Adrienne."

Lynn kicked the door shut with her foot and carried Peter up the stairs, dumping him on their large bed. He made a feeble attempt to remove his shirt, but Lynn just swatted his hand away and pulled his boots off, tugging the covers over his limp body.

"Get some sleep." She whispered soothingly, then pulled off her own shirt and skirt and slipped into a pair of baggy tartan pants and a red jumper, collapsing beside her husband.

She barely had enough strength to roll beneath the covers and turn off the bedside lamp before sleep claimed her, pulling her under into blissful oblivion.

When Lynn finally found the will to open her eyes the next morning, squinting against the filtered sun creeping through the closed shutters, she knew what an utter mistake the previous night had been. Lynn was rarely ill, and any experience she had with head colds and the flu was nothing compared to the drums pounding between her ears and the dry, pasty sandpaper that was her tongue scraping against the roof of her mouth. Rolling over slowly, carefully, she realized that Peter was already gone, no doubt shouting words of encouragement along the sidelines of James' football game.

_Ugh_….muttered the little voice in her head, disgusted at the thought of anyone that awake and aware after a night of shot glass slamming and liquor consuming. _How does he DO it??_

Lynn sat up slowly, holding her thumping head, closing her sleep crusted eyes to battle the dizziness that suddenly swept over her. She could tell already that this wasn't going to be a very good morning at all. Pulling on a housecoat, she made her way downstairs and into the sun drenched kitchen and plopped a few pieces of toast into the toaster. She was just about to pour herself a cup of strong black coffee when she heard the mail flap screech open and clatter closed, then the distinct clap as letters hit the hardwood floor. Lynn shuffled over to the front door and swiped them up, turning back to the kitchen.

"Bills…bills…junk…" she tossed the flyer into the waste bin on her way in. "Hmm….another letter from Tabitha. Wonder what that bloody woman wants this time…..ju---"

Lynn paused midstep, holding up the last piece of mail in front of her.

It was an envelope, somewhat larger than the rest, made of a strange, thick sort of paper that was familiar for reasons she could not discern. There was no address on the front, and no return address on the back, and it was held shut by a red wax seal. Lynn began to peel it open, but stopped, drawing in a slow breath. Someone like her didn't just receive unmarked letters everyday. She was a normal woman, with a normal family, who lived in a normal house in normal downtown London. There was absolutely no reason for her to be receiving strange post. No reason at all, unless……._No. No that couldn't be it….Why would anyone like **that** want to contact her….?_ Maybe it was just some company's latest feeble attempt at original advertising. Maybe. If she was lucky.

Sighing, Lynn finally plucked up the courage and ripped open the wax seal, and pulled out a small card nestled within the envelope. It was no bigger than her palm, and made of the same sort as the envelope. There were no marks of any kind on the front, so she turned it over hesitantly, knowing that if there were any message to be found, it would be on the back. 

Indeed there was, and as Lynn's eyes fell on the message, her face drained of colour for reasons she could not comprehend.

_Who are you?_

Lynn felt an unconscious shiver run down her spine.

She read the looping black letters again.

Her hand twitched, and she jerked suddenly, ripping the card in half. She ran blindly into the living room and threw the torn card and envelope into the crackling fire, watching it burn to cinders on the hot coals. The fire consumed the paper quickly, and soon nothing was left but ash and soot, not a trace left of the chilling note. Long after it was gone, her dark eyes watched the flames hungrily, her gaze fixed on ever speck of ash, every single speck of it, willing even those small particles to disappear.

Lynn was very certain where the letter had come from now. There was no other place where paper like that, which gave her such a feeling as it did, could have come from. The unnerving prickle of electricity, or power, of _magic_ was still dancing on the tips of her fingers, and Lynn shoved them in her mouth, sucking nervously on the charged skin.

The real question was, what self respecting wizard would risk their reputation contacting _her? _And worse yet, how did anyone know where she was, _who_ she was? From what she'd gleaned here and there, she knew she'd effectively disappeared from the wizarding world. Her parents had seen to that. They would not have their Squib daughter tainting their good, pure name. If someone had somehow found where she was living, they had done some very serious digging. They would have to had known which orphanage she'd been abandoned at, somehow gotten a hold of her papers, figured out her new name, figured out who she'd married, where they'd moved to and personally send the letter without being seen by her neighbors.

That was not easy by any stretch of the imagination.

Which meant, that there was serious intent behind it.

Backing away from the fire, Lynn turned and approached the window, drawing the curtains aside slowly, glancing outside and doing a cursory scan of the street. She thought she saw someone dressed in black go around the corner, but she couldn't be sure. And besides, a lot of people dressed in black. She was just being paranoid.

Lynn was just about to let the curtain fall again when she saw Peter coming down the street, James following behind, kicking his football in front of him. A sudden blind panic seized her, and she dashed back into the kitchen, searching frantically for any signs of the note that might have been left behind. Seeing none, Lynn sank onto a bar stool at the island, pulling the other neglected letters over to her, trying to calm her erratic breathing.

The front door opened, and James came barreling in, bouncing his ball in circles around her.

"We won!" he shouted, his bright blue eyes twinkling madly. "I scored the winning goal!"

Lynn smiled at him, ruffling his messy black curls. "That's wonderful James! Now why don't you get changed so you can play." She cast a disapproving eye at his muddy cleats, noting the mess he'd left all over the linoleum. "And take off your shoes!"

James sucked on his bottom lip and gave her a sheepish grin, kicking off his cleats and tearing upstairs, leaving his ball to roll slowly across the floor. Peter sauntered into the kitchen soon after, smiling wickedly, and dumped his jacket on one of the other chairs.

"How's my girl this morning hmm?" he wheedled. "Are you feeling it?"

Lynn rolled her eyes, suddenly becoming aware again of the headache that was still pounding between her ears.

"How you do it, I have no clue, but yes, I don't cope well with large quantities of liquor. Stop ragging me about it."

"Perhaps you'd like to make me." Peter waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Lynn squealed, scandalized.

"Later, _maybe_." She promised. "Right now, I need to go for a run. Do me a favor and make sure James does his homework while I'm out, so he can go to that movie later."

Peter nodded. "Sure. Go have your run."

Lynn smiled her thanks then went and changed, pulling on some spandex shorts and a gray tee. She laced up her trainers, jogging down the stairs and tying her hair up before going out the door and down the street to the large track near their flat. The wind blew easily through the thick mass of black wavy hair bobbing behind her, caressing her fair skin and bringing a blush to her cheeks. It was a cool morning, and as she jogged, Lynn hummed softly under her breath, glad for the slight breeze. When the track came into view she picked up her speed and turned onto the lanes. She ran one lap, passing a mother running with a three wheeled jogging carrier, then went around for a second circuit, her trainers slapping wetly on the rain soaked rubber. As she was coming around the corner, going for her sixth lap, Lynn looked to the side and nearly dropped dead with shock.

Standing out in vivid, stark relief against the gray sky, a tall, slender figure wearing what was unmistakably long black robes was leaning casually against the track stands, his chin length black hair swirling around his face. His features were nothing more than a blur in the distance, but there was an energy that radiated from him which reeked of a stern, incredibly powerful man. The air between them crackled and fizzed with magic, causing a cold shiver to strike up and down her spine like lightning.

Lynn's chest constricted, and white spots began to dance before her eyes. She staggered backwards, nearly falling right over, turned, and ran. She didn't know why she should be running, but her feet were flying, and she didn't have any hope of stopping them. Lynn was suddenly more frightened than she'd ever remembered being before, and the urge to flee overpowered all her other senses. She had no idea whether or not the man was following her, but she ran, and didn't stop until she was far from the track and the amazing power she had felt. 

That man was a wizard. A very powerful wizard.

The last time Lynn had been around a wizard…..well, that would had to have been when she'd been left at the orphanage, and that was close to twenty years ago. She'd almost forgotten what magic felt like, sensing that kind of thing and knowing what it did to her. For normal witches and wizards, they simply got used to it, and quickly began to ignore the emotions and senses that followed people like themselves around so strongly. But for Lynn, who'd been basically a Muggle a good portion of her life, the power that bled form wizards and witches like sweat was still very much a shock and an odd sense of intimacy to her, as if she was feeling them, rather than knowing them personally.

And that man…..that _man_, if someone like him could be called something so plain and inappropriate, he had made her feel things she didn't think she'd ever felt before. It was like something dark, and with just a touch of sin, like transgressions that had been confessed and paid for, but with lingering stains that couldn't be washed away.

Lynn had never been more unsettled. She brought a trembling hand to her face and felt one pale cheek, feeling the chill settle on the tips. A cold burst of wind swirled around her, disturbing her already ruffled hair, and she shivered, suddenly wishing she'd brought a jacket, or maybe just a jumper. She usually didn't take such brief runs, and by the time she was finished, she was loathe to add another layer to her already sweaty garments. But, she didn't dare go back now and finish what she'd started. Much to her chagrin, Lynn was terrified that the man would still be there where she'd left him, and she would definitely rather run on the hard pavement of her friendly neighborhood streets than on the much less straining rubber track without anyone around except for the possibility of an enigmatic stranger.

Rubbing her upper arms to restore some heat, she began her walk home, her eyes fixed unfocused on the pavement passing under her feet. Before she knew it, she was standing stationary on the front walk of her flat, staring blankly into space. She half expected Peter to come out and laugh at her, asking what the bloody hell she was doing, then bring her inside and make her melt with one of his knee-weakening smiles, say he was sorry, and make her tea or something. Thankfully enough, she pulled herself together quick enough to make it into the house before anyone saw her. Once inside, she crept up the stairs and past the bathroom, where sounds of splashing and giggles wafted through the half closed door. Her thin lips curled into a smile, and she paused to listen, and nearly laughed out loud when there was a loud splash, followed by an outraged shout and a string of mild profanity obviously from the mouth of her cheeky husband.

Lynn wasn't going to stay around to see what would come of it, so she slipped down to the end of the hall and into the master bedroom, pulling off her barely sweaty clothing and slipping back into her pajamas, climbing under the bedsheets. She closed her eyes and curled into the fetal position, tugging the covers closer to her chin.

Why was her life suddenly taking a steep nose dive into the strange and unexplainable? She loved her husband, she loved her son, she had a great job and was good at what she did, she paid her taxes, she didn't drink and drive, and bloody hell, she just didn't deserve this! Sure, she was an orphan Squib, abandoned by her magical parents because of her "disability", who grew up as a Muggle and rightfully was one now. So, why was she being stalked by wizards? Was the magical population laughing at her? Did they hate her so much that they thought it was their personal responsibility to dangle what she couldn't have in front of her just to spite her? 

__

Well, laugh it up, she thought bitterly, _I'm not going to let this bother me. I don't want to be a witch. I'm perfectly happy as I am. I don't need all the snooty parties, all the formalities, all the fancy clothing and posh furniture, all the rules and expectations that come along with being a "**Lestrange**" like unwanted baggage._

Lynn was half asleep, mulling over her troubling thoughts, when Peter flopped onto the end of the bed, sighing heavily.

"Lynn, are you asleep love?"

"Not anymore obviously."

She felt him rubbing her felt through the heavy sheets.

"Why are you back so early? Don't tell me you're slacking because you know how much I hate it when you slack…."

"Sod off Peter." She whined, swatting the air in hopes of making a hit. "Please, just…go away."

"Oh come off it Lynn. I know there's something bothering you so just spill. It will make things so much easier."

"It's nothing you need to worry about Peter."

Whether there was something in her voice that she couldn't hear, or it was just the way she said it, Peter was suddenly silent at her feet, his hands lying still on the sheets. She could hear him breathing steadily, each rise and fall of his chest applying pressure to her legs.

"Love, if there's something bothering you, please tell me. Even if it's something small."

Lynn turned away from his pleading voice, closing her eyes tightly.

"I'm tired Peter. Please go away. Take James to his movie."

She felt him hesitate for a brief moment, then slowly heave himself off the bed, padding softly to the door. He paused on the threshold, as if waiting for her to call him back and spill all her worries, then passed through, closing the door behind him. Even though she wanted to, Lynn couldn't seem to dredge up any regret for what she'd just said and done, pushing Peter away like she had. A small part of her was glad for the silence and solitude now, away from his bubbling personality and charming smiles. An even smaller part of her didn't want him to come back at all, and even though Lynn knew had callous that sounded, for some odd reason, she just couldn't care less.

"Dad, where's mum?"

James' sweet voice wafted under the closed door, and for a moment, Lynn wanted to put her hands over her ears and block him out, but stopped herself. _What was she doing?! What was happening to her?_ James was her _son_. She loved him more than she loved herself, and would do anything to make him happy. Why then was she all of a sudden avoiding him, and Peter? Had that eerie note and the equally eerie man bothered her more than she'd realized?

And if so, what was going to happen to her if more of them appeared? 


	3. Come Away With Me

A/N: Well, thanx to my one and only reviewer Kristina, you have spurred me to be a little more quick in my updates, so here you have chapter two, the chapter of many revelations and a painful parting…..Hope you enjoy, but just one question before we get along, who said that Lynn was five when she was dropped at the orphanage?? She was more along the age of eleven, and since her parents had automatically assumed that she would be a witch, when she did not receive a letter from any wizarding school, they were prompted to have her checked, thus discovering her "dissability". So that makes Lynn about thirty one in this story. Just wanted to clear that up for you, as well as any other readers.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

****

Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

~_Chapter Two_~

Lynn's fingers clenched involuntarily around the thick envelope in her hand. She shuddered violently, and closed her eyes, taking a slow, uneven breath. She really couldn't say why she was letting it all bother her like this, but it seemed so unavoidable, and the longer the letter was crumpled in her hand, the more the chill which came along with it settled around her. There was no room for argument anymore that someone was doing their very best to frighten Lynn beyond all doubt, and they were doing a damn good job at it.

Since the first disturbing note, five more of its equally disturbing fellows had soon appeared, a two or three day interval between each one, and Lynn was beginning to feel as if her life was governed by the arrival of another letter. One would arrive, and then she would spend the next few days anxiously awaiting another, driving herself to distraction worrying about it, and thinking up ways to make sure neither Peter nor James had any idea they were coming at all. If either of them discovered the notes, Lynn wouldn't be able to throw them away and pretend they didn't exist, as she was currently doing. She'd have to explain herself, and if it came down to it, reveal her shady past.

And if that happened, what would Peter say? What would her son say? It wasn't every day that you told your partner you used to be a witch, but were abandoned by your pureblood parents because it was discovered you had no magical talent after all. The best she could hope for, would be for Peter to laugh at her and ask if she were feeling quite alright, if she was lucky.

It also became very apparent that these notes weren't simply random threats. So far, the six letters she'd received formed a chilling message:

_Who are you? Who are you little imposter? Who do you think you really are? Who are you trying to fool? Do you want to know who you really are? Think on it, let me know._

The latest note was still clenched in Lynn's fist when Peter strolled into the kitchen, yawning loudly and excessively, stretching his arms above his head in a large "y". Lynn's heart gave a great leap, and she stuffed the off-white parchment into her housecoat pocket. It wasn't until she was starting to sit down, pulling the paper over to her, that Peter's fingers curled around her arm, and she looked up to see him staring at her curiously.

"What was that?" he asked, giving her a little grin.

Lynn felt her face drain of colour.

"It's nothing." She said automatically, looking away. "Just some junk mail."

Peter gave her an odd look. "Can I see it? You know how I love junk mail."

"No. It's nothing you would like." She peeled his fingers off her arm and went to make herself some coffee. "Why don't you go wake up James. Shawn said he'd be here to pick him up around nine, and it's almost a quarter to now…."

Before she could stop him, or even register what the hell he was doing, Peter launched himself at her pocket and snatched the note, dancing away when Lynn recovered from the initial shock and tried to snatch it back. She watched helplessly, mouth wide with increasing horror, as Peter ran around the island to get further away from her, then proceeded to read the crumpled piece of parchment. Lynn felt her knees turn to jelly when Peter looked up and fixed her with an incredulous stare, and she staggered backwards, clutching at the counter to keep upright.

"What is this?"

Lynn barely heard him for the ringing in her ears.

"I-I don't know." She whispered, flinching at the look of disbelief on Peter's face. She'd never been good at lying, and was even worse under pressure. How could she have ever though he'd fall for such a blatant lie?

Peter strode forward slowly, tossing the note on the counter so she could clearly see its message, much different from the others: 

_Lord Voldemort requests you take leave of your Muggle family and join him where you rightfully belong. You have three days to make a decision, whereupon you will either be retrieved or forcibly taken. Choose wisely, Morganne._

"What the _bloody hell_ is this?!"

Lynn opened her mouth to formulate a satisfactory reply, but was cut short as Peter surged forwards, towering over her.

"Don't lie to me Lynn! Don't you dare lie to me!"

Lynn sagged against the counter, staring blankly at the floor. She had no idea what to say, or how to explain the missive in terms that wouldn't compromise her embarrassing and frankly insane secret. There was nothing that could be said, without slipping in at least part of the truth, and Lynn was not ready at all to even divulge the smallest bit of her past.

She decided to tell Peter about the other notes, and hopefully skirt away from anything remotely magic related.

"It's not the first." She began, feeling her confidence rise a tiny bit with the knowledge that she wasn't actually lying this time.

"They started about a week ago. I really didn't think much of them until they began coming frequently though. I mean, I tried to ignore them, but they just kept coming…."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter demanded, taking hold of her shoulders roughly. "These….these are mail threats, Lynn! You don't just leave this kind of thing alone and hope it'll go away. This psycho could mean serious harm to you, and you can tell he's obviously off his bloody rocker. What's he getting at calling you Morganne?"

Lynn wanted to laugh out loud. For one thing, it was painfully clear that Riddle(for she wouldn't give him enough credit to call him _Lord Voldemort_) was most definitely not off his rocker, despite some of his homicidal tendencies. He may be a merciless murderer, but he was also damnably brilliant. For another, it was also painfully clear that he was "getting at" nothing by calling her Morganne, for it was her real name, the one she'd left behind long ago. But, how was she going to tell Peter this, when she wouldn't even allow herself to _remember_ that of which was now being thrown back in her face?

"I'm going to call the police Lynn."

Peter threw her one last look before striding into the other room. She heard him dialing, then a low hum as he talked, and then the click of the cordless being placed back on the receiver. He didn't come back into the room, but the front door opened and closed loudly, and she saw him walking down the street through the kitchen window. 

Lynn sighed heavily and ran a hand through her thick wavy hair, taking the note in hand and reading it through.

So she had three days, just three measly days until her life as a Muggle would abruptly end.

And then what?

What exactly did Riddle want with her anyway, when she could give him no aid? She was no witch, despite her heritage in the most prestigious line of Lestranges. He already had Rodolphus and that wife of his, and her parents too, as well as any other Lestranges that were fortunate enough to walk his way. Another might have said that it was unfortunate, but Lynn was no preacher about the evils of "_Lord Voldemort_" and his Eaters of Death. She had never thought much about everything that had transpired in the wizarding world since her departure, and she could care even less now. It wasn't her business.

There had been frequent visits from Riddle in the early stages, while he was still gathering his forces, and still black haired and handsome, and it was then that her parents( who'd also been avid supporters of Grindelwald ) had been swayed, and she had first seen the glint of eager anticipation and hunger in her brother's eyes. She however, had not been especially impressed by anything Riddle had had to say. Lynn had decided even when she was no older than seven that she would have no part on either side of the war, and to that she would always hold true. Riddle could lock her up and threaten her life and she would still do nothing for him. At the same time, she would do nothing for the other side either.

So, what choice did she really have? She could agree, and no one would get hurt, or refuse, and everyone, including herself, would get hurt, and the result would still be the same. Wouldn't it be so much easier if she just let everything go and agreed to Riddle's terms?

But…..what about her son? What about Peter?

Surely Riddle would never allow her to bring them along with her. He had said very clearly in his missive that he wanted her to leave her family and come to him, and there was no room for compromise. She could either leave them with a full explanation and try to make them see what she had to do, or leave with no explanation whichever way Riddle had planned to have her taken.

Lynn would much rather leave knowing that she'd left her family willingly, than with struggle. She would feel much better if they knew that she was hopefully going to be all right, and that if she could, would come back to see them soon. Lynn didn't want to think about what James was going to say, how he was going to look at her when she said that she had to leave, that she was a witch and that she'd been lying to them both all these years. She could already see the look of disappointment, of betrayal on his sweet, innocent face.

Lynn drew a ragged breath and pulled a bar stool over to her. She sat, and lay her head in her arms, trying to form a semblance of calm. She could distantly hear James rattling around upstairs, and the random thumps and shouts. With a sad jolt, she suddenly realized how much she loved her son, and how much she never ever wanted to leave him, even though she had no choice. She realized that she'd never be able to watch him grow and become a man, be able to see him accomplish his goals and find his first love.

Lynn squeezed her eyes shut and stifled a sob.

What was she going to do?

The next two days passed far too quickly for Lynn's liking. When Peter came home, he said nothing to her and walked up the stairs to their room as if unsure of where he really wanted to go. For the next two days, the two of them danced wide circles around each other, and Peter could hardly look her in the eye without his lips thinning into a severe line. If James noticed his parents were acting a tad strange, he wasn't letting on. He continued on his merry way, blissfully oblivious to the uncomfortable space between Lynn and Peter, and said nothing in comment.

Lynn thought it was horribly cruel and unfair that she should spend her last two days with her husband in frosty silence, and was now determined more than ever to tell him the truth some time before she would have to depart, even if it would drive the wedge further between them. If she was going to leave, she was going to leave without the burden of any lies on her heart. Peter deserved the truth, and she'd kept so much from him over the course of their relationship and marriage, where any other person should have been completely honest with their partner.

If worse came to worse, Peter would probably have a fit and call her crazy. But then, she'd most likely be long gone and firmly ensconced within Riddle's lovely little fold of murderers before any damage could be done. And what a bright and cheery future that was. Perhaps she'd just be better off refusing and making a run for it, and leaving behind everything she held dear. Maybe then she'd finally be free from any magical threads that were still holding on for dear life and refusing to let go.

It suddenly occurred to her that just because she was a Squib, didn't certainly mean that James was too. For all she knew, he could be a budding wizard, and in a few years a Hogwarts owl would come soaring through the kitchen window bearing the news. Lynn was probably doing him a service by telling her story. At least he wouldn't immediately dismiss the letter as madness, and have a chance to nurture his special gifts.

However, it wasn't until the evening of the second day that Lynn finally plucked up enough courage to confront Peter after they'd finished supper and tell him that she needed to speak to him. Peter seemed reluctant at first, as if he was trying to find an excuse to get out of it, then finally acquiesced, following her into the sitting room. Lynn was just about to go and call James down, when he came without summons, running down the hall and pulling a green jumper over his head, shouting something about going over to Nigel's house to play football. Lynn snatched him before he reached the door, drawing him aside.

"You can go out later." She said, putting him down beside Peter on the loveseat. "I need to tell you both something."

James looked excited. His face lit up at the thought of being a confidante for one of her secrets.

Lynn couldn't help but feel suddenly extremely angry.

"This isn't something to be excited about." She snapped, then deciding to just dive right in… "I've been lying to you."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Peter leaned forward, an uncomprehending look on his face. "Lying about what?"

"About everything. About my name, about my past, about _who I am_. You know nothing of who I really am."

"What?!" Peter was on his feet in a flash. "What do you mean? Of course I know who you are! We've been married for ten years! Why wouldn't I know who you are….?"

"Because I'm not who you think I am." Lynn met Peter's unbelieving gaze evenly, feeling her chest constrict as she opened her mouth to finally tell the truth. She glanced at James, his eyes wide and shimmering, his young face contorted with incomprehension, and took the dive. "You may know everything there is to know about Lynn Grey…but absolutely nothing about Morganne Sylvie Lestrange. I'm that woman. I'm the disowned and abandoned daughter of Andre and Monique Lestrange, and sister to Rodolphus Lestrange. I was once a member of one of the Thirteen Families, the wizarding world's most prestigious and powerful purebloods, descendents from the first great witches and wizards themselves." She paused, and ran a shaking hand through her hair. "That is, I _was_, until I reached the age of eleven, and was declared a Squib, which means that even though I'm the child of two magical parents, I have no magical talent at all. My parents abandoned me after that at an orphanage, and from there I lived my life, and was completely content to forget about my brief magical existence."

The silence was deafening. 

The look on Peter's face had quickly morphed form disbelieving to completely incredulous. James looked merely stunned.

"You expect us to believe that?" Peter demanded once he'd gotten a hold of himself.

Lynn gave a heavy sigh. "No."

"Then why did you tell us?!"

"Because I thought you should know, even if you're not going to believe a word of it."

Peter still looked incredulous. He glanced at James, then back at her, shaking his head slowly.

"Well, why now?" he asked. "Why now of all times?"

_Ah, now the difficult part….Trust Peter to cut right to the chase…_

"Because…" _Dear Merlin, how can I tell him this?_ "Because tomorrow I'm leaving." Peter's mouth dropped open in complete shock, but she surged on. "Someone from the magical community has contacted me, an extremely powerful someone. His name is Tom Riddle, and he wants me to….well I'm not exactly sure what he wants me to do, but I have to come with him. I know that doesn't make any sense to you, but if it makes you feel any better, I'm just as confused as you are."

Lynn had expected rage, or stinging accusations, but Peter merely slumped back into his seat, mouth still open, a low _ugh_ flying from his throat. James looked like a ghost of himself, curled up on the couch, his black curls standing out in sharp relief against the white leather and his pale face.

"Mum?" he pleaded softly, lip quivering, eyes moist.

And with that small, keening little cry, Lynn crumpled.

Choking on a sob, she sank down and pulled him into her arms, tangling her fingers desperately in his soft curls. James snuggled closer to her, his small hands clinging around her neck, his own little hiccups melding with Lynn's broken sobs. She raised her head and cast a sorrowful look in Peter's direction, his twisted expression blurred by the tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She clung tighter to James. "I'm so sorry. This wasn't my choice…"

Her admission fell on deaf ears. Peter stood stiffly without so much as a word, and swept from the sitting room in a haze of awkwardly mixed disbelief and anger. James hardly noticed, he was still snuffling into her shoulder, toying listlessly with a lock of her hair.

"I don't want you to go." He cried. "You can't go."

"Oh James…" she pulled back and wiped away his tears with her thumb. "I don't want to, I don't….but I have to."

"No, no you can't. I won't let you."

"James I have no choice. I have to. If I don't they'll take me anyway, and you might get hurt. I could never forgive myself…."

"No!"

James tore away from her and dashed into the kitchen, and then upstairs. She heard the slam of a door, and then angry shouts and sobs, and a pair of feet crossing the hall that had to be Peter going to comfort and soothe.

Lynn's heart felt like a lump of lead, heavy, cold and suffocating in her chest.

_So this is what it feels like to loose everything that ever matters to you._

Limp, she dragged herself off the floor and collapsed on the couch Peter and James had just vacated, laying a hand on the slippery leather, feeling the lingering heat of James' body rising into her palm. Just the soft tinkling of warmth reduced her to tears again, and she spent the evening in pieces, trying to find a part of this whole deal that wasn't so bleak.

At some ungodly hour, Lynn awoke to the sound of the door opening, and then closing again. There were footsteps in the front hall, and then a clink and clatter as keys were tossed on the side table. A rustling plastic bag was placed on the kitchen counter, then more rustling as it was rifled through, and then a soft, indiscernible sound. Lynn opened her eyes ever so slightly, and saw Peter come into the sitting room and look in her general direction. He stood there for a few moments, then turned and left.

She fell asleep again soon after.

Lynn jolted awake at a quarter past seven, her shirt clinging uncomfortably to her back, and a trickle of cold sweat running down between her breasts. In a moment of painful clarity, she realized that this would be the last time she was ever going to wake up in this house again, and nearly broke right down once more. Pushing down the rising tears, Lynn rose unsteadily to her feet, and wandered into the kitchen where Peter and James were already seated at the island, heads bent together over a small green velvet box. James murmured something, and Peter shook his head, causing her son's beautiful eyes to dim considerably. Her heart wrenched, and she must have made some sort of sound, for both heads suddenly snapped up, two sets of eyes focusing on her.

"I didn't mean to interrupt…" Lynn croaked, slumping against the doorframe, gaze downcast.

"We were just going out." Peter got off his stool and pulled James after him, striding right past her and down the hall towards the door.

Panic seized her, and Lynn stumbled after them, clutching at Peter's shirt sleeve.

"Wait!" Tears sprung into her eyes. "Wait…I don't know when they're coming for me…what if, what if you're not here and I have to leave…?"

Peter looked like he wasn't quite sure what to say to that. James hovered behind him, looking distraught.

Lynn bit her lip, reluctantly letting go of Peter's sleeve.

He turned abruptly away from her with a grimace, reaching for the door knob.

"Are you still going on about that nonsense Lynn?" he muttered vehemently. "I have half a mind to leave you right now…."

He was cut short as the bell suddenly rang, loud and clear over his mutters.

Lynn jumped at the sound, heart cannoning up her throat. She moved forward to answer it when the others didn't, then felt a cold shiver run up and down her spine, and a sizzle of magic jump from the knob to the tip of her outstretched finger and crawl up her arm. She shrieked and stumbled backwards, colliding with the side table. Peter threw her an incredulous stare, brows furrowed, then brushed past James and opened the door.

Outside stood a tall, slender, immensely handsome man dressed in stylish black slacks and a navy blue dress shirt, with a long black leather trench coat swaying around his ankles. The look on his face could best be described as utterly disgusted, but trying to be civil about it, and his white blonde hair was tied back in a severe ponytail, although a couple of strands had somehow worked their way free and were dangling around his finely shaped jaw. His most prominent feature where his eyes, a cold and desolate gray that were narrowed with contempt as they swept over Peter and James, then settled on Lynn, where she was sprawled across the floor.

"Ah, Miss Lestrange." He purred, almost fondly, then stepped over the threshold without so much as a glance in Peter's direction and offered his hand. Lynn took it, and he pulled her to her feet.

"Excuse me." Peter said indignantly, pushing past the man. "Just who do you think you are barging in here and manhandling my wife?!"

The man's lip curled into an unpleasant sneer. He shook off Peter's hand and turned back to Lynn.

"My name is Lucius Malfoy. It is my understanding that you are to come with me, Miss Lestrange. Do you have your things ready?"

"Excuse me!"

Lucius whirled and snatched Peter by the collar, pointing what was indefinitely a wand at his chest.

"I suggest you be a little more polite in the presence of your betters, Muggle." He hissed, cold eyes sparking maliciously. "Unless…." Here his voice dropped to a dangerous level, "you need me to show you how to behave?"

"Leave him alone."

James' small voice was surprisingly firm. Lynn had never known him to be so brave with strangers before.

Lucius' sneer turned into an amused look of mild shock, and he released Peter, laughing softly.

"And you must be Miss Lestrange's son, unless I am mistaken. What is your name, boy?"

"James." His tone gave away nothing. "Leave my dad alone."

Another bark of laughter.

"It's a terrible shame you father isn't a wizard James. I might have taken you along too if you weren't a Mudblood."

His cold eyes swiveled in Peter's direction briefly before turning back to Lynn.

"I-I'm not ready." She whispered, unable to meet his intense stare. "Could you give me a few minutes….? You can wait in the sitting room if you'd like."

The sneer returned full force. "I'd rather not." He sounded as if that would be the last thing he'd like to do. "Very well, get what you need."

Lynn hastened towards the stairs, but Peter stopped her, shoving something in her hand. She looked down. It was the green velvet box she'd seen earlier. Peter pulled James in front of him, hands on his shoulders, a pained expression on his face.

"Good-bye Lynn." He choked out. "I still don't quite know why you leaving…This whole thing is quite frankly beyond my realm of understanding…but since you're leaving, I thought I should give you that." He gestured limply to the box in her hand. "It's our eleventh anniversary next week, remember?"

A wave of sorrow washed over her, and Lynn nearly suffocated on the repressed tears.

"Oh Peter…" she collapsed against him, cupping his head with one hand. "Oh Peter…"

"Miss Lestrange, we haven't all day."

Lucius' smooth voice wafted down the hall. Lynn wanted to scream at him to give her a few moments for good-byes for Merlin's sake, but couldn't seem to find her voice. She pulled away from Peter, still longing to hold on for just a little longer, then began to ascend the stairs, looking over her shoulder to see Peter leading James back towards the sitting room. Her heart wrenched horribly again, and she felt a few tears finally escape and slide down her cheeks. 

Oh God….she just couldn't do this…..

Lynn was halfway to her room when she heard the explosion.

"Peter!" she screamed, jumping to her feet after initially falling over. "James!"

She ran down the stairs shrieking, and stumbled straight into a cloud of paint and chipped drywall, flashes of coloured light and commanding shouts. Someone wearing what she belatedly recognized as blue Ministry Auror robes ran into her and she was pushed over the back of the couch, falling face down next to it. There were more frantic shouts, then flashes of sickly green light followed by a rushing wind, then two stiff bodies landed alongside her, disturbing another cloud of dust. Lynn coughed and cleared her eyes of grime, pushing herself up against the couch, then stopped, a hoarse scream rising in her throat.

Peter's face, frozen in a look of horror, stared blankly up at her, his once bright green eyes dimmed with the film of death. James lay over him, face to the floor, with Peter's hand held protectively on his back.

She had barely the chance to fully grasp what was going on, before she felt someone grasp her wrist roughly and mutter a spell she couldn't seem to remember, and then the noise and confusion was gone.

Coughing and swaying with disorientation, her eyes focused long enough to see red, merely slits where there should have been eyes.

Red filled her vision, harsh, cold and heartless red, even when she couldn't fathom how a colour could be heartless, cold or harsh. A series of chills ran through her, and she suddenly felt like she'd never be happy again….

"Ah, Morganne." Whispered a terrible, horrible voice somewhere in front of her. "Welcome home."

And then she screamed, and the world went black.

A/N: Several things to say here. First of all, although I have gotten this chapter posted much quicker than the last, you will probably have to wait a long time for the next. It is still in the early stages of being written, let alone being transferred to my better computer for posting, so I have no idea when it will be up. Second of all, the idea of the Thirteen Families is someone else's brainchild, although I cannot remember whose, and I don't know whether or not Hogwarts letters are sent to Squib's or not. It would probably make more sense to get the kid to school, then see if they can do magic, but I'm doing it the other way for the purpose of this story. Hope you enjoyed, and please review! 


	4. Lifestyles Of The Rich And Wicked

A/N: Yes, I'm back, after a very long hiatus, and I am VERY sorry for taking so long. It takes many an hour to transpose from one computer to another, and my fingers are usually horrendously cramped afterwards, something that I do not like at all. But, I did get chapter three out, didn't I? And I really like this chapter, so I hope you do too. Also, just so you know, chapter four has been started, and hopefully won't take so goddamn long!

**__**

Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

~**_Chapter Three_**~

_It was cold, a bitter, biting, soul sucking chill that reached her bones and settled like a coiled snake in her chest, curling and sliding and squeezing oh so slowly. Quietly, patiently, it settled and grew until her entire body was consumed by it, until her parted lips were blue and her fingertips were numb. For some odd reason, she hardly cared, despite the way she shook and trembled, and how the cold sweat cunning down her back and along her neck was freezing in its tracks, which in itself was quite odd as well._

A river of strangely silent water tugged persistently around her ankles, water that was only slightly warmer that she, although it did nothing to dispel the cold. The current was not that strong, but tenacious, and she wondered if she stayed there long enough, if it would eventually pull her down and under, to be carried away on the river's whim, out into the black before and behind her, to her sides and all around her. The only things that gave her surroundings any semblance of substance, was the river flowing onward over her feet, and the swirling, dancing fog that looked like liquid silk hovering above the water.

She had no recollection of why she was there, or what she was supposed to do.

She felt like she was in limbo, waiting patiently for something monumental to occur.

There was no sound, not even a trickle as the water moved, or wind that was supposedly making the fog move in lazy, dancing circles. She knew that there should be sound. No sound meant that what she was seeing wasn't real, just a complex and convincing illusion. And for there to be an illusion, she knew also there would have to be some magic involved. That was the only thing that made sense to her in this strange, dark, silent world. There should be magic. Where was the magic? Who was casting the spell?

The sudden, unnerving sensation of creeping fingers along her arms and across her stomach sent a jolting chill through her that had nothing to do with the cold. She arched away from it, but the nimble digits did not disappear, nor desist, and despite herself, she began to whimper, trying to move further away but finding that her feet were rooted to the spot. She opened her mouth to cry for help. Nothing came out but a hoarse croak and another pathetic whimper.

There were suddenly voices, quiet, taunting, whispering voices in her head and all around her at the same time. The fingers, once oddly soft and caressing, were suddenly rough and jagged, and scraped against her sensitive skin like bone.

**Forget ever calling yourself a Lestrange again, Squib**…

…**not Morganne Lestrange**…

…**Squib**…

…**some silly memories**…**not believe her**…**what she is**…

Oh God no…please that….what was happening to her?

…**Squib**……**silly memories**…

Oh God, she couldn't breathe….the cold…..so cold….oh god….

…**Squib**…**Squib**…**Squib**…

With a hoarse, ragged scream, she rose out of what she now realized was nothing but a dream…..breaking the surface….cracking the ice…..groping…grasping for warmth…..for **air**….

Morganne screamed again, her eyes flashing open, arms outstretched in front of her, grasping for purchase, then choked mid-shriek when she saw what was leaning over her, saw the skeletal hand draped in stinking, molding sinew, reaching up and drawing back the hood…

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

There was a flash of silver mist, and a great, pearlescent white jaguar leapt out of nowhere, bowling over the cloaked specter, which gave an inhuman scream and fled the room, the cold, the fog, and icy chill retreating in its wake. Shivering and shaking and soaked with cold sweat, Morganne collapsed back against what she was laid across, breathing hard, one hand pressed firmly over her heart.

The room around her was dark, a suffocating, oppressive black. She could not see, nor sense the presence of whoever had cast that unfamiliar spell. There wasn't a sound except for her own ragged, quickly drawn breaths, not even of life beyond her enclosed space. She considered briefly calling out for help, but quickly discarded the idea. Whatever place housed beings such as the one that had attacked her was not a place for shouting pleas for help. The wizard or witch who'd cast the spell still had not revealed themselves, and Morganne would rather they come forward first, then make herself vulnerable to other possibly unfriendly spells.

Morganne did not know how long she waited, but at some point, she drifted off again, exhausted and utterly spent, despite not having done much at all. Her dreams were strange and disorienting, a sea of water and white mist, and when she finally struggled to the surface of consciousness once again, she was still shaking with the after affects of her frightening encounter.

The first thing she noticed however, upon waking, was the abrupt change of scenery.

She was no longer lying in her dark, stifling cell of a room. The space she currently lounged in was extravagant to the full extent and in every sense of the word. A soft, flickering light fell across her face, warming her severely chilled skin. As her eyes cracked open, still caked with grit, she was met with the pleasant sight of a magnificently sculpted dome ceiling, painted with the heavenly picture of fluffy white clouds and golden rays of sun, bathed in the same flickering amber light. She swiveled her dark eyes in all directions, taking in whatever she could see, and it soon became apparent that she was lying in what seemed to be the study of a wealthy, pureblood wizarding family's mansion. It was a wild assumption, but there wasn't a Muggle item in sight, and there were very few non-magic folk who lived in such splendor, and equally few wizard families with at least a little Muggle blood in their veins.

The second thing she noticed, was the soft, mellifluous melody wafting from the adjacent room, accompanied perfectly by the low hum of another, deeper instrument.

Morganne sat up slowly, curious to see where the lovely music was coming from, and noted the rest of her surroundings. It was not a study per se, as she'd suspected, but what seemed to be a miniature library of sorts. The floor to ceiling bookshelves were behind her and to her left and right, while a somewhat dubious looking liquor cabinet sat in front.

_What kind of people have a liquor cabinet in their **library**?_ she thought vaguely, rubbing her eyes and flexing her toes to restore circulation. 

She stood, and stumbled her way over to the half open door in the far corner, ignoring the change of clothing that had been laid out for her. She was not eager in the least to don robes again for the first time since she was eleven when she'd been accosted by a robed figure not long before. The elegant, expensive looking navy blue swathe of silk would have to wait for later.

Quietly slipping through the open crack without disturbing the door, she crept out into the echoing hall. The music floated around her in the still, slightly musty air, guiding her down towards the next room. A ribbon of golden light lay across the red carpeted floor, showing that the following door was indeed open as well. Morganne sidled up to it and leaned around the corner, squinting into the room beyond.

Close to, Morganne could hear the music very clear now. It was a slow, almost eerie tune, and expressive crescendos and decrescendos punctuated each rise and fall of the melody. The low, beautiful hum of a cello accompanied the piano seamlessly, and together it was a song to stir the soul. Morganne stifled the urge to sigh dramatically, clutching at the molding around the door, slowly opening her eyes that had unconsciously closed. It was then that she got her first look at the musicians. 

To her surprise, it was none other than Lucius Malfoy himself sitting at the breathtakingly beautiful ebony grand, his head slightly down-turned and fixed with complete concentration. The dancing candlelight fell across his handsome, no _beautiful_, face and turned the spill of white blonde hair falling over his shoulder to a burnished gold. Morganne found herself staring unabashedly, lips parted as if in supplication. When she'd been younger, and still an accepted member of the Lestrange family, she'd heard plenty about the Malfoy family, their fame, their fortune, their rich, pure bloodline, and their stunning good looks. The current Malfoy Sr. was hardly an exception to the rule.

When she finally pulled her gaze away from him, and noticed his partner, she nearly gasped aloud.

Even though he was facing away from her, and she could only see the slightest bit of one side of his face, a lightning jolt of recognition flashed through her. She leaned forward, trying to get a better look, and accidentally brushed her elbow against the door, causing it to creak open a fraction more. Morganne froze, horrified as the lovely music came to an abrupt end, then swiveled on her heel and plastered herself against the wall, a hand over her mouth to quiet her sudden erratic breathing.

A low, silky laugh wafted out of the room, washing over her like a warm summer breeze.

"Severus…"came Lucius' drawling voice, purposefully louder than necessary. "I do believe we have a visitor. Shall I go and see who it is?"

His partner gave a low reply, and Lucius laughed again.

"Too true," he chuckled, and she heard a creak as he rose from the piano bench and then footsteps slowly approaching. "Too true…."

Morganne held her breath, dizzy with fear, contemplating where running was a very wise idea. He'd not doubt find her sooner or later. This was probably his house. Where did she really have to go….?

"Why hello there Miss Lestrange."

He was suddenly right beside her, like a shadowed guardian angel with a crooked sense of morality. Morganne jumped away from him, sucking in a severely startled breath, shivering when his ice gray eyes swept over her head to foot, glittering in the candle light, a wicked grin curling his lips.

"It's good to see you're up," he told her softly.

Morganne said nothing.

"Did you like the music?" he prompted.

"It….it was very nice." Her voice was nothing more than a thread of sound. "You're a very good player."

His grin widened perceptively. 

"I'm glad you think so." A pause. "Why aren't you wearing the robes I left out for you?"

"Oh—oh, well I didn't feel like putting them on…..I mean…should I have?"

Lucius took a moment to consider it, then pursed his lips, one hand curling like a cobra around her arm.

"No….no that is quite all right." He began to lead her back the way she'd come, into the library with its liquor cabinet and strangely out of place dome ceiling, sitting her down on the chesterfield gently. He strode over to the aforementioned liquor cabinet—_so it's **his**_—his movements smooth and fluid like a prowling jungle cat. Morganne watched him avidly, mesmerized despite all common sense, and how utterly foolish she knew she looked staring like him like some lewd voyeur.

Lucius poured himself a glass of what looked like brandy in a crystal snifter, then took a slow sip. He swallowed elegantly (if that was even possible), then raised one sculpted eyebrow.

"Would you like some?"

Morganne felt her stomach turn over unpleasantly.

"Oh, no. No thank you."

Lucius smirked.

"You know," he leaned against the mahogany cabinet, looking at her thoughtfully, "you never used to be this skittish, Miss Lestrange."

"What? Did…did you know me before I was….left?"

"Oh yes. You know, I almost didn't believe it was you the other day. You're very different."

"Am I?"

Morganne wondered why she couldn't remember any such encounter with Lucius, when it was obvious he did. She would have thought she'd remember him quite clearly, if she'd ever come into contact with him before, but trying to dredge up any memory whatsoever drew nothing but a complete blank. Of course, he could very well have been lying, but the look on his face was too genuine to be anything but true.

"Yes, Miss Lestrange, you're very different from what you used to be." His eyes darkened a little. "I suppose that Muggle husband of yours is to blame for that."

Morganne gasped. "Peter?"

Somewhere inside of her, something cracked. Everything came back to her in a frothing, merciless wave, washing over her with a roar. The sightless faces of Peter and James swam before her eyes, James' keening cry of desperation ringing in her ears like a siren. They were dead. Dead. Those Ministry Aurors had killed them, and there was no bringing them back. They'd used the Avada Kadavra like it meant absolutely nothing, like it wasn't a human they were murdering, but something small and easily forgettable. What gave those Auror's the authority to take someone's life like that? How could they _do_ that?

"Miss Lestrange, are you quite all right?"

Lucius' silky voice pulled her back from her thoughts with a sudden jolt. She looked down surreptitiously at her hands, where they'd clenched into fists around the leather chesterfield tightly. Flushing with embarrassment, she uncurled her fingers slowly, then wiped away the tears that had started falling.

She laughed shakily.

"I'm fine," she said.

"All right then. I'm sorry to have upset you." He put down his snifter of brandy and sat in the chair opposite her, watching her carefully. "I suppose all this must be very strange for you, Miss Lestrange."

"Well yes," Morganne admitted. "It is quite a change. I mean I really don't know what, _Lord Voldemort_," she tried to keep the mocking tone out of her shaking voice, "has in mind for me."

"Oh yes, well, you'll find that out soon enough."

Morganne didn't much like the sound of that, but kept her mouth shut. She still wasn't sure what to say around these people yet, how much to give out, and how much to keep to herself. From what she remembered of her parent's soirees, it was a dangerous game one played in Riddle's service, and only the most cunning, the most clever, the ones who really knew how to play that survived. Morganne _did not_ know anything about playing the game, but she knew she'd have to learn quickly, or risk being swept away. Lucius, on the other hand, obviously had many years experience, and she could imagine that everything he said to her, every expression on his face, every nuance of his movements was calculated to a point, to only give away as much as he wanted, and still be just as convincing.

Lucius stood suddenly, snatching the snifter in hand and finishing it in one gulp.

"Miss Lestrange." He turned to her. "Do you think you're up to having some dinner?"

"Dinner?"

Lucius smirked, nodding.

"Yes, I suppose then."

"Good. Come down to the dining room when you're ready."

With a last nod, he swept from the room in a swish of black velvet, and she heard him striding away down the hall.

Morganne took a deep breath, then looked down at herself. She was still wearing the white blouse and black pinstriped pants she'd worn back at her flat in London, although they were now dusted with grit and horrendously wrinkled. She looked over at the velvet blue robes lying beside her, then back down at her own clothes, and sighed.

Morganne decided she'd best not push her luck.

Picking them up and looking them over skeptically, they seemed at least three sizes too small. Morganne wondered how she was ever going to get them on, let alone wear them with any modicum of comfort, until she slipped them over her head and found that they were charmed to expand or shrink to form fit the wearer's body, and they expanded for her just enough so they lay on her like a second skin, without being suffocatingly tight. 

She studied herself over in the mirror hanging on the wall, adjusting the clingy fabric here and there. She thought they looked rather nice, if a little too elegant for her tastes. She slipped on the matching shoes, with thin, criss-crossing straps that ran all the way up her calves to about two inches below her knees. Morganne didn't think she'd ever seen more outrageous and unnecessary shoes in all her life. Even her mother, the epitome of fashion and style, had never worn such flashy things. But since she had no other shoes to speak of, there was nothing that could be done.

It was only when she'd finally done up her shoes, and adjusted the robes to within an inch of their life, that she realized she had no clue where exactly the dining room actually was. She suffered only a moment of blind panic, before there was a pop, and a very scruffy and downtrodden looking house-elf appeared at her feet.

"Nibbs is here to show Miss Lestrange to the dining room," he squeaked, wringing the front of what looked to be a threadbare tailcoat.

"Oh thank-you," Morganne breathed in relief, then followed as Nibbs led her through a maze of candle-lit halls with their marble rimmed, red carpeted floors until they approached great double doors of polished mahogany, which opened soundlessly before them. Nibbs disappeared immediately, and Morganne was left to step timidly into the grand dining room.

Even the Lestranges, who were very wealthy in their own right, had no space than even held a candle to this dining room, no, dining _hall_. It was not the largest room she'd ever seen, but in the case of extravagance and detail, was a space to amaze, to surprise, to _impress_. A long table, of the same polished mahogany ran the length of the room, with—Morganne took a quick count—thirty high back upholstered chairs, fourteen along each side and one at the head and foot. Centered in the middle of the gilded ceiling was a breathtaking crystal chandelier lit by long white candles, and all four walls were painted a deep, rich red, and lined with gold candelabras, wherein more thin white candles were placed. Morganne was so absorbed in examining every wonderful detail, that it was a few moments before she realized that Lucius had risen from his seat at the head of the table and was currently standing just beside her, grinning like Lucifer himself.

"Miss Lestrange, it you're quite finished," he purred, taking her hand in his.

Morganne flushed, horrified with herself.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said hastily. "This room…it's just not quite like anything I've ever seen before."

"That is quite all right. Why don't you sit, so you can observe more comfortably."

He held out a chair for her and she sat, folding her hands in her lap. It was then that she noticed the sour faced boy sitting opposite her.

He was a mirror to Lucius, with identical silver blonde hair and cold gray eyes, but was obviously too young to have been his brother. She therefore surmised this was his son. He slouched in his chair, arms folded across his chest, looking at her with nothing but disdain and contempt in his eyes, and a frown pinching his pale lips. She met his stare evenly, but did and said nothing to provoke him. Even though he was a child, or actually more of a young man around the age of sixteen or seventeen, he seemed to be Lucius' only son, and therefore in high favor with his father. It she upset the son, she would upset the father, and she could tell that Lucius Malfoy was not a man to idly cross.

Lucius noticed his son looking at her, and smiled thinly.

"Miss Lestrange, this is my son, Draco," he said, leveling the boy with a hard stare that spoke volumes. He immediately sat up straight, though his frown did not disappear. "Draco, this is Morganne Lestrange."

Draco inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement.

"It's very nice to meet you Draco," she replied.

Lucius smiled again then clapped his hands, and the golden platters and bowls were instantly filled with steaming food. Like flicking on a light switch, Morganne's mouth began to water, and she had to restrain herself as they all began to spoon various things onto their plates. The three of them ate in relative silence, and the only sound was the occasional chime from the large grandfather clock sitting in the far corner. For some reason, Morganne was not surprised by the presence of such a blatantly Muggle item. Many of the more sensible, or well-to-do wizards and witches used Muggle clocks instead of wizard ones, which were immensely hard to read and quite tedious to boot. While wizarding clocks did tell you the time, they also told you many other things, and in the end, you were often left wondering what exactly the time was anyway.

When all their plates were clear, the remains disappeared from the table like nothing had been there at all. After a nod from Lucius, Draco rose and hurried from the room without a word of parting to either of them. Morganne found herself feeling a little surprised at the cold indifference of it all, but after a moment of thought, wondered what she'd really been expecting. Draco didn't look like the kind of boy who would gush about how wonderful the dinner had been, hug his father, then run off to gladly do his homework. On second thought, Lucius didn't look like the kind of man who'd allow such nonsense anyway.

Morganne said nothing once Draco was gone. She stared at her lap, and waited for Lucius to start their strangely formal conversation again.

There was a long silence, and when Lucius still had said nothing, she glanced up to see him staring at her, a strange glint in his eyes. Morganne raised her bowed head and met his probing stare, expecting him to laugh at her, or call her "_Miss Lestrange_", as he so liked to do. But he just smiled at her, a toothy, disarming smile that made her heart rise in her throat.

"I must apologize for my son's abhorrent manners," he said lowly. "He doesn't like strangers, Muggle strangers all the more."

Morganne opened her mouth to say that she _wasn't_ a Muggle, but Lucius cut her off.

"Oh yes, I know you're not a Muggle, Miss Lestrange, but I'm having a hard time convincing him of the matter, seeing as you did live as a Muggle for a good portion of your life. Try not to be offended. He is going through that stage of adolescence when they must be horribly difficult about everything, much to the displeasure of the rest of us."

"Hmm, I see." She tried not to think about James again.

"I'm sure you do, Miss Lestrange."

Morganne inwardly flinched. Why must he insist on calling her "_Miss Lestrange_" as if he feared his intentions might be misinterpreted as lecherous if he even breathed her first name while addressing her? It sounded like he was speaking to a child, not a woman of his age and maturity. She wanted to be treated like an equal, not an underling.

"Call me Morganne," she said firmly, straightening her back and inclining her head.

Lucius considered this for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips as if this was what he'd been expecting.

"All right, Morganne," he said silkily. "Then you must call me Lucius."

Morganne nodded. "Fair enough."

They sat in companionable silence for a time, the clock ticking away behind them, then Lucius rose and strode towards the doors, motioning for her to follow. Morganne hastened after him, sticking close to his side as he led her down more halls into what had to be the front hall, or foyer, with a white marble floor and another glittering chandelier hanging above them. Two staircases on either side of the room curved up and met halfway with a landing, then continued up as one to the second floor. They ascended side by side, and Lucius turned at the top, then stopped outside the first door on the left.

"These are your quarters." He drew his wand and waved it lazily at the knob, unlocking the door with a low _Alohomora_. 

"You will find all you need inside. If there are any problems, you can contact my by Floo, or summon one of the house-elves. Other than that, good-night, Morganne."

He clasped her hand lightly and raised it to his pale lips, brushing a slow kiss over her knuckles.

"Good-night, Lucius."

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, then he nodded, turned, and swept away down the other side of the hall, his black cloak flapping behind him. Morganne watched him go, then opened the door to her room and stepped in. Once again, her surroundings were nothing but the picture of luxury, with a green canopied four-poster and stained glass doors at the far end, which were opened to the night air with a circular balcony beyond. More green swathes of fabric were draped beside the doors, flapping slightly with the breeze. Morganne moved to stand before them, feeling the cool night air slide over her and then retreat. She sighed and raised one hand to her neck, massaging the aching muscles, digging in hard with her thumb and feeling the joint pop, then the muscles relaxing like butter slowly melting. She moaned softly, then dropped the hand, thoroughly satisfied.

The soft, warm looking sheets beckoned to her, and Morganne cracked after only a moment's hesitation, pulling off her robes and crawling under them wearing nothing but her underclothes. She rolled over on her side and folded her hands under the pillow, sinking into the mattress.

She was asleep in seconds.

~*~

They were sitting together in the drawing room before a crackling fire, sipping brandy in amiable silence. Lucius was flipping through a large, leather bound tome with no identifiable title that she could see, small oval framed glasses perched on his straight nose. Every now and again he would look up and regard her silently, as if summing her up and calculating from every possible angle. Morganne did her best to ignore him and let him get on with it during these instances, staring ahead of her into the dancing flames until he returned to his book. The looks weren't threatening, or odd in any way, but it was the fact that every time he glanced her way, a thrill ran through her, a thrill she was scared to admit, that she avoided his penetrating gaze. It was the same thrill she'd felt when she had seen the man by the track, though not as intense and jolting. It was more like a slow burn, just as powerful, but smooth as liquid silk, washing over her in pleasurable waves.

She didn't like the fact that secretly, she was waiting for him to look at her so that she could feel it. She wanted it, and that scared her.

Lucius snapped his book closed so abruptly Morganne jumped in her chair, her gaze flicking up to see what was wrong. He was clutching at his left forearm, bent forward slightly, his face twisted in intense concentration and concealed pain.

"What is it?" she was out of her seat and at his side in an instant, not sure whether to touch him or not.

Lucius looked up at her, his gray eyes burning, and the power that washed over her was so overwhelming that she gasped and staggered backwards. Lucius' pale lips curved into another disarming smile and he rose, removing the hand from his forearm.

"It's time to go," he said. "The Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Morganne felt as if she were going to faint. She'd known this day would come sooner or later, but had dearly hoped that she would have more time to prepare. She didn't know how to act around him, how to play his game. It was still so much beyond her to comprehend their multilayered words and misleading actions. Even the simple things Lucius said to her could have meant ten other different things. Morganne could barely get one point across clearly, let alone infuse it with oh-so-clever undercurrents and double entendres. She didn't have a clue how she was going to survive two seconds in the presence of Riddle and his minions, who could pull her apart and dissect her as effortlessly as breathing. And worse yet, she was easily the most pathetic lying on the face of the planet, if her previous experiences were anything to go by. So, with that, she had absolutely no weapons in her arsenal, and nothing to defend herself with. She didn't stand a chance.

Lucius waved his wand and summoned something long and thin from across the room, which came soaring into his hand in a blur of black and silver. With a flick of his wrist, it cracked against the floor, and she realized it was an elegant cane with a silver snakehead on the tip, and glittering emeralds for eyes. She took a moment to admire the beautiful craftsmanship, then returned to looking at Lucius, who was absorbed with adjusting his robes and smoothing his long white blonde hair. Morganne took the hint, and began to adjust the play with her own silk robes, but was stopped as Lucius touched her arm lightly.

"You look fine," he told her, grinning slyly. "I however, have an image to uphold. It would not do to show up looking like something dragged off the street, now would it? But you Morganne, you must think about how you want these men and woman to see you. While the Dark Lord does employ those of substantial intelligence, there are many who will see you one way, and then expect you to be exactly the same forever. Don't act like something you aren't, and cannot hope to keep up."

Morganne nodded, understanding well enough.

"All right then, are you ready?"

She took a deep, slightly calming breath. "Yes."

Lucius moved closer to her and placed a steadying hand on the small of her back, causing another enticing thrill to shoot through her. She stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice, then waved his wand again, muttering an inaudible word, and the both of them Apparated, disappearing with a pop.

They materialized on the front cobblestones outside a large, but dilapidated looking mansion. Weeds festered in abundance across the sweeping lawn and crawled vinelike up the chipped outer walls. The windows were boarded and the roof tiles were falling apart, and all in all, Morganne was not impressed. She found it quite hard to believe that Riddle would live in such horrendous conditions, while his servants languished in the lap of luxury. Lucius noticed her look of poorly masked disbelief, and laughed wryly.

"It may not look like much, but do not be deceived. Inside, the Riddle house is much more than it seems."

Morganne decided to take his word for it.

They talked up to the door, a sad looking thing of molding oak, and Lucius drew his wand again, placing the tip in a hole where the bell button would have been. There was a rushing noise and a small shower of green and deep purple sparks, then the door opened soundlessly, and Morganne finally saw what Lucius had meant about looks being deceiving.

She had barely enough time to take in the splendor before she was whisked up the circular, spiraling staircase and down a long, shadowed hall. At the end, an opened door waited for them, and Lucius swept her inside, disappearing into the shadows. Morganne halted in her steps, and it finally dawned on her just what she was about to do. 

She was about to come face to face with Lord Voldemort.

In the corner, a large fire blazed in the hearth, and a high backed armchair sat before it. She could see nothing of its occupant beside the top of a finely curled head, and one pale, elegant hand resting on the arm. There was a rustling of heavy fabric, and she looked around, startled, to see the faint outlines of more cloaked figures standing in the shadows around the room, and the glint of many silver white masks. The pale hand raised and made a flicking motion, and at least fifteen people materialized and glided out the door, silent as the dead, their black robes brushing against her as they passed. All but one, who she assumed to be Lucius, remained, and he stepped out and moved closer to the chair, bending down and whispering something to the man sitting in it.

"Come closer Morganne."

The voice was as cold and harsh as a blast of icy wind, hoarse and rasping as if long unused. Morganne wanted nothing more than to stay right where she was, but an invisible hand pushed her forward, and she had no choice but to take a few steps closer.

"Do you fear what you cannot see, Morganne?"

The question caught her off guard.

"Pardon?" she whispered, suddenly trembling.

"Do you fear me, because you cannot see me?"

"Well, I…I…"

"I do not appreciate inarticulate tongues, Morganne. What is your answer? Speak quickly."

"I….yes," she said finally, deciding on what she considered was the safer option.

"Then I'd better relieve you of that fear, right Morganne?"

She wanted to shout no, but he was already rising, and he'd obviously not wanted an answer. She saw the back of his head, covered in gleaming black waves of short, silky looking hair, and the exquisitely embroidered collar of a black robe. Lucius knelt immediately, bowing his head and kissing the hem of Riddle's robe, then backed away, head still bent.

And then he turned.

A/N: Heh. Can anyone tell I love Lucius Malfoy? It's pretty darn obvious, isn't it? Well, I hoped you all like this chapter, even though it was VERY LONG in coming, and please review! Pretty please?


End file.
